Quidditch
by pbfate
Summary: A tragedy befalls the Gryffindor Quidditch team when they loose one of their own and all blame is pointed towards Marcus Flint. But all bets are off as Harry tries to find the true killer in time, with the help of an old friend. Rated for language. RR! .
1. Unsung and Unheard

**Chapter One**

****

            "Gryffindor!" Lee Jordon's voice echoed throughtout the playing field. The Gryffindor Quidditch players zoomed out from under their gold and red tent. They flew around the field, smiling and waving, to get the audienence excited. And then joined Slytherin, who had been annouced first, in a circle around the wooden box that held the golden snitch, along with the other Quidditch playing balls.

            A white haired women stepped on to the field. She was wearing a black robe and had a whistle around her neck. Her eyes were a strange colour, yellow.

            "I want a clean, fair game." Madame Hooch eyed the Slytherin team as they snickered to themselves. She unlocked the wooden box and release the bludgers, the game had begun.

            Harry Potter immediately directed his broom upward, so he could hover over the field and watch everything take place during the game. But his attention was not on the game itself, he was looking for the snitch.

A gold flash by the goal posts of the Gryffindor team caught his eye. He looked over and there was the snitch, flying in and out of one of the goals, almost like it was taunting him. He smiled and flew straight at it, he knew it would fly away, making this chase harder then he'd like. Harry was almost at the post, he outstreched his hand to catch it but, as expected, it zoomed away when he was mere inches from it.

He flew threw the goal and followed it, his hand still outstreched. 

            "Good game Potter." Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch captian, complimented. 

            Harry smiled back, "Thanks." 

            Gryffindor had won the Quidditch game agaisnt Slytherin. Harry wished he had a camera when he saw the look on Draco Malfoy's face when Harry had caught the snitch Malfoy hadn't seen the entire game. It was priceless.

            Oliver nodded to Harry, and smiled. He then walked off to talk to one of the Gryffindor Quidditch team members, Fred…or George…Harry wasn't sure. 

            "Harry!" Harry looked over at the mention of his name. His friend Ron was calling him, "Hey Harry! Great game! You really beat those Slytherin's. Did you see the look on Malfoy's face?" He laughed. Harry laughed as well, and the two continued with their idle chat as they walked to their next class.

            It was the early morning, the wind blew through his hair and he sighed as a smile found it's way across his face. The sun was just rising above the near by trees and the grass waved at him in the slight breeze. He checked his watch, five o'clock exactly. The team shouldn't be out for practice until six.

            He mounted his broom, and gracfully kicked off from the ground. He flew higher and higher until he was above the entire Quidditch field. He looked over it and smiled again, this was his home.

            "Oliver!" A gruff voice from below him called his name, he turned to see who had called him. It was Marcus Flint, the Slyitherin Quidditch captain. Once Oliver realized who it was, his smile quickly disappeared.

            "What?" He called back, lowering himself down to the ground and dismounted in front of Marcus.

            "You cheated." 

            Oliver was taken aback by the sudden accusation, "What?" He lifted his eyebrow in a mixture of surprise and amusement.

            "You cheated in yesterday's Quidditch game." Marcus stated once more.

            "Listen Flint," Oliver spat Marcus' last name as if it were vemon, "we did no such thing." He leaned in closer to Marcus, "Have you ever considered that maybe we're just better then you?" He smirked.

            Marcus leaned in as well, "Watch it Wood. You never know what kind of 'accidents' might happen next game. Quidditch can be hazardous, very hazardous." Marcus looked Oliver over before turning around and leaving the field.

            _Game two…Oliver thought to himself. Marcus' threat the week before had worried him. He knew all to well that Marcus would do it, whatever it may be. He eyed Marcus as he hovered above the ground, waiting for Madame Hooch to begin the game. _

Marcus caught Oliver's gaze and ran his pointer finger across his throat, indicating that Oliver would 'die'. Marcus smiled as he did this. Oliver's face hardened. He wouldn't let Flint get to him, he still had to play the game. Oliver looked away from Marcus and watching Madame Hooch approach the ever so familiar wooden box. She opened it and the game began, all the while Oliver kept a close watch on Marcus.

            He had noticed Wood at the beginning of the game. He was worriedly watching him. So, just to make Wood more nervous, Marucs decided to make a 'dead' sign across his own throat. He almost laughed at the reaction he got, Wood's eyes widened and he moved his attention to Madame Hooch.

            Little did Marcus know that his small joke told of a chilling future. Someone _was going to die._

                                    To Be Continued…

A/N: What do you think? You like? You no like? Tell me please! Thank you for reading! I hope my style of writing isn't to boring ^_^;;  . Thanks again. Until next chapter, bye!

Peace, Penguins, and L-O-V-E!

Evil Penguin Plushie 


	2. When Heaven Cries

A/N: hides behind computer screen Um…hi? cheesy smile Look…I'm not dead! computers are hurled in general direction Gak! hides Sorry for not updating in, how long has it been now? Five million years? Yeah, so sorry! I had a really, really long um…brain freeze! Yeah that was it! A brain freeze! cough cough okay, okay. I admit it, I gave up on this story for a long while. I lost interest in Harry Potter fanfics. But I'm back! (Blame it on SharonToggle my sister she made me re-watch the movies, and now I can't stop myself) So, yesh. I'm sorry I suck at life . but now, for your reading pleasure is the next chapter of dramatic music QUIDDITCH!

p.s. – Please don't flame, and if you do try to make it constructive because a flame that just says 'you suck!' doesn't really do anything but hurt peoples feelings. If you flame it means you have a problem with the story. Understandable, you can't please everyone. Just please try and be considerate of other people's feelings.

p.s.s. – Sorry the flame paragraph was so long, it just bothers me when people don't give a reason for why they're upset or dislike you. If you explain your reasoning's instead of a hit and run of insults then (and I'd hate to sound cliché) but the world would be a much better place. Thanks being considerate. I hope you enjoy the fanfic.

Warning: Language. I couldn't help it, it's all Marcus' fault anyway! He's a mean, mean meanie. Rating may be raised to an R just for Marcus' language…Sorry if he offends anyone!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Literally…tear (except for the idea, and the word arrangement of the story. Please don't steal! And if you want to archive it all you have to do is ask .)

**Quidditch**

**Chapter Two: When Heaven Cries**

The game had started over two hours ago, and still there was no sign of the competition letting up. Gryffindor was leading by only five points, and Harry had lost sight of the snitch. The players were tried, and the fans had sobered their cheering down to a dull roar instead of the all encompassing yell it had been at the beginning of the game.

Harry took up his usual position of hovering above the field, and searched for the snitch. A loud cheer from the Gryffindor fans caught Harry's attention for a moment. They were now leading by ten. He smiled, before he remembered that he had a ob to do. Where was that snitch? A small glint of gold made him immediately turn his gaze to the other side of the field, and just as he was about to pursue the speck of gold it began to rain.

The cheer echoed throughout the Quidditch field. Yes! They were up ten on Slytherin. Oliver grinned at Marcus as he glared in Oliver's general direction. Marcus' threat after the last game had worried him for a while, but Oliver was sure that if he had meant anything by it he would have done something by now.

Marcus was usually all talk anyway. Except for that time he got in a fight with that fourth-year after they called him a dirty cheat. And that time he sent that third-year to hospital after they had started a nasty rumor centered around Flint and some other Slytherin boy (Oliver had decided he didn't want to know what the rumor had entailed). So yeah, Marcus was all talk. Most of the time. Pretty much. Maybe. Possibly. Oliver sighed to himself, okay so never. When Marcus committed to something he went all the way, screw consequences.

Oliver shook himself out of his thoughts, he had to keep his mind on the game. He stole a glance at Harry who was floating above the Quidditch field, and just as Harry began to zoom towards the other side of the stadium it began to rain

This had to be one the worst games. It was long, and they were losing. Marcus was upset to say the least. The very least. A loud cheer came from the Gryffindor section of the stands and Marcus' temper flared. They were now losing by ten. Damn it. Marcus caught sight of a widely grinning Oliver Wood, and if looks could kill Oliver would have been dead five times over.

Flint smirked at that thought. Oliver dead, what a great day that would be. He just hoped he'd still be around when good ol' Ollie breathed his last. He had no words for how much he hated that particular Quidditch captain. Marcus hated a lot of people, almost everyone he met he found something he hated about them, but Wood was one of those people he just wanted to strangle, drown, stab, poison, or any other wonderfully fatal thing he could think of.

He glanced at the Slytherin seeker Draco Malfoy, whom he had decided an hour into the game was either blind or just plain stupid. Or both, Marcus was still debating. The only reason Marcus even remotely considered keeping him on the team was Malfoy' father. The rich bastard was prepared to buy the team anything they needed, in the hope that Draco would not be a royal screw up. Which he was, in Marcus' opinion.

That damned Potter began to fly across the field. He saw the snitch, Flint was sure of it. God damn it! Marcus was now convinced, Malfoy wasn't stupid or blind, he was the thickest, most uneducated and untalented little fuck Flint had ever laid his eyes on.

And just then it began to rain.

That was it, Marcus decided, something had to be done.

Harry was almost there, just a few more feet then the game would be over. He could just imagine Lee Jordan announcing his success over the speaker, _'Gryffindor wins! Harry Potter has caught the snitch!'_, Harry smiled. There would be a party, of course, his fellow Gryffindor's would pat him on the back and congratulate him on the great win. They would shake his hand and the Gryffindor's would have something to hold over Slytherin for a while. Draco would be furious, and Harry would enjoy every moment. A petty thing, he realized. But hey, he was only human.

Harry stopped his thoughts from going further, he was getting ahead of himself. First he had to catch the snitch.

The rain was making it a bit difficult to see, as the small drops clung to his glasses. He was merely feet away now…the snitch then suddenly made a break for it, usually Harry would be up for the challenge but oddly he just wanted this particular game to be over. He feverishly chased after the golden ball, vigorously trying to capture it once and for all. He ducked in and out of the towering stands filled with the rabid Quidditch fans who cheered him on the entire way.

He was soaring sheer feet to the ground now, he was so close to the snitch! It was almost in reach…and just then he felt someone hit his broom. Harry only had a few seconds to realize that it was Malfoy who had apparently seen him trailing the snitch by only a few inches. But the moment Draco's broom had connected with Harry's it gave Harry enough momentum to have his hand hit the target, and as Harry fell off his broom to the ground only feet away he realized he had something rather cold and round clutched in his hand.

"Gryffindor wins! Harry Potter has caught the snitch!"

A large grin spread across Harry's face as he lay in the soaked grass of the Quidditch field. He closed his eyes and savored the feel on the rain on his face and the sound of the other Gryffindor's cheering and yelling his name.

Marcus witnessed the whole thing. He was going to kill Malfoy. He was going to kill him. Harry had caught the fucking snitch. God damn it!! Marcus flew his broom higher, near the Gryffindor goal posts. If Wood was gonna gloat he had better do it now so Marcus wouldn't have to punch him out in the hallways. That might make Marcus late for class…

A small notion suddenly popped into his head, it would be so easy. Just give old Ollie a hard push off his broom then Marcus would never have to deal with him again. How fun that would be. Just a little shove, then and Oliver Wood Quidditch Captain Extraordinaire would fall to his death. Marcus gave a small chuckle, now that would be something worth seeing.

Oliver yelled in joy as he heard more that saw that Harry had caught the snitch. The rain was beating down heavily now. He turned his head upward and enjoyed the feel of it on his face, everything seemed to go silent as he savored the team's victory. What a great day. He couldn't wait until he could write his friends back at home and tell them his team had won another game.

He was just about to fly down to the ground when someone caught his eye. A figure started to fly toward him from the goal posts. The heavy rain, and darken clouds made them hard to make out to say the least. Oliver squinted in their direction, wondering if it was one of his team.

He was just about to call out to them when their slow and gentle glide towards him suddenly turned into a race against time at break-neck speed. The suddenly change in speed startled Oliver, as he tried to maneuver out of the way but was to slow. The person coming at him had to be riding a Firebolt.

Just as the figure was about to collide head first with Oliver, they swung around letting the back of the broom hit Wood full in the chest. The momentum caused Oliver to lose his balance on the broom, and he began to fall. Desperate not to make a sudden collision with the ground far below him, Oliver held one hand tightly onto the broom as the rest of his body dangled freely off the bottom of it. He tried to reach his other hand up, to so he might be able to climb back onto his broom, but his hand slipped because of the rain. He tried again but the small drops of water kept getting into his eyes making it impossible for him to see clearly – if at all.

His mystery attacker unexpectedly made a return visit. Oliver barely had a chance to try to grab the broom handle when they figure slowed to a halt just above him. Oliver looked up at them, and heard a laugh. They were laughing? That was not good.

The assailant leaned forward, "Send my regards to Potter," he spat, "for yet again winning another game." He snickered and with one final shove, Oliver began to fall.

As the rest of the Gryffindor team begun to land Harry noticed their captain was seemingly absent. Oliver was usually one of the first to land. Harry turned his head upward and slowly searched the darkened skies for him, when two shadowy figures way above the field caught his eye. The rain made it very difficult to make out who it was. Wait, one of them was hanging from their broom. If they fell they would never make it!

"Look!" Harry yelled, pointing towards the unfolding drama. And just as he said that, the person dangling from their broom, fell. The crowd began to scream, as they witnessed this seemingly unreal performance unfold before them.

Lightning flashed, and suddenly it all became gravely clear as the red and gold uniform of the quickly plummeting figure glowed brightly in the night for only a few seconds. Oliver was falling to his death.

Harry knew there would be no way to save him. Even if he got on his broom right now and flew as fast as he could he wouldn't make it. Not with his broom…

Harry turned around and in a split second had grabbed a Firebolt out of a nearby Slytherin's hand and mounted it, a resounding 'Hey!' came from the Slytherin but Harry paid them no heed. He kicked off the ground as hard as he could and quickly sped towards Oliver. He had to make it, he had to. Oliver's life depended on it.

It was surprisingly slow. He had always imagined falling from that high a drop would be swift, not leaving him time to even partially come up with a coherent thought. But he was wrong. It took an eternity. Maybe if he closed his eyes he would fall faster…

He wasn't going to make it. He knew it, but he still had to try. Harry squinted his eyes, trying desperately to ignore the stinging rain drops has he rapidly flew into them.

"Oliver!" He tried to yell over the crowd's screams, and the thunder roaring above. He reached out his arm to catch his falling teammate. Harry could feel Oliver's hand frantically try and get a hold of Harry's.

The world seemed to have slowed to a halt. Harry and Oliver locked eyes, a mix of panic and urgency filled both. Harry could read Oliver's emotions so clearly it almost frightened him. The rain continued its descent, and the once screaming crowd was now silent in morbid fascination as the tragic scene played out before them. But all that existed for Harry in that moment was Oliver's eyes, his fear, and finally Oliver's unheard scream as his hand slipped and he fell for the last time.

To Be Continued…

A/N: So what do you think? Who pushed Ollie off his broom? What happens now? What will Gryffindor do without their Quidditch captain? What could possibly happen next?!

Okay, to all you rabid Oliver Wood fans who won't read the upcoming chapter because I coughed (A/N: I'm not telling) Oliver you are sadly mistaken! I promise you right here and now, this is not the last of the fearless Wood! Come back to visit when more is posted and you will find out what I mean! Bahaha! Now, review! . please?


	3. Pity the Numb

A/N: Hi, I'm back, and I'm proud to say "I AIN'T DEAD YET!". First off, I would like to thank everyone who reviewed the past two chapters and stuck with me. It's why I decided to start chapter three! So thank you again to everyone. And to my sister for making me re-watch Harry Potter which got my inspiration flowing again. ….

Well, on with the new chapter!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and anything affiliated with it doesn't belong to me. If it did, this wouldn't be a fanfic, it would be the book! The only thing that is mine is the story, plot, and word arrangement of the previous, present, (and soon to be) following chapters of the story below. If you want to archive it all you have to do is ask.

Flame Notes: Please don't flame, and if you do try to make it constructive because a flame that just says 'you suck!' doesn't really do anything but hurt peoples feelings. If you flame it means you have a problem with the story. Understandable, you can't please everyone. Just please try and be considerate of other people's feelings.

Thanks for reading!

p.s. – Sorry about the ''s. It's just spaces it's stories oddly, and it was hard to understand the flow of the story without breaking the thoughts and points of view. You'll get it when you read it… hehe … Enjoy!

**Quidditch**

**Chapter Three: Pity the Numb**

It had been almost a week, and the screams still echoed around him. _A week?_ He thought, _only seven days?_ Yet the memory seemed as clear as it had been the moment it happened…

_The world seemed to have slowed to a halt. Harry and Oliver locked eyes, a mix of panic and urgency filled both. Harry could read Oliver's emotions so clearly it almost frightened him. The rain continued its descent, and the once screaming crowd was now silent in morbid fascination as the tragic scene played out before them. But all that existed for Harry in that moment was Oliver's eyes, his fear, and finally Oliver's unheard scream as his hand slipped and he fell for the last time._

He couldn't feel anything but an over whelming sense of being lost. Everyone else had cried, and was still crying. Everyone else had felt the loss and mourned it, everyone but Harry Potter.

The boy who lived, could now barely survive. Guilt was all he knew. He should've caught him, held on to him, and saved him like he does everyone else. It was his fault.

_But what about the one who pushed him?_ He tucked his hands in his pockets as he reviewed the seemingly unreal and heartbreaking event over in his head for the umpteenth time.

_Oliver fell. The Quidditch captain of the Gryffindor team had slipped out of his grasp, and fallen._

_"Nooo!" Harry cried, his voice lost amongst the mix of screams. He couldn't watch as Oliver met his gruesome fate, and just as he turned away someone caught his eye. They were floating near the goal post, suddenly the image of Oliver being pushed off his broom invaded his thoughts. It was them, he was sure of it._

_Lightning flashed, and caught Harry off guard. The bright light was an unneeded reminder of the reality of the situation. Just as the light dissipated, the mysterious figure was gone as well._

If only he had seen them. If only he had caught a glimpse of them…then…then…then what? Harry didn't know. He felt like he would never know.

His whole world had been racked with loss before and as he was finding out, it's harder to put the pieces back together for a second time. He couldn't really remember his parents very well, he knew that they loved him and saved him, but he couldn't remember _them_. He spent seemingly countless nights just trying to remember the feel of his mother's gentle hands. His father's loving eyes. Hours he had spent trying as hard as he could to hold on to the smallest of details, praying they would never fade with time.

Harry only had a vague picture in his head of those two whose lives were cut so short. It was hard to miss something you could barely remember. But Oliver…Oliver he would always remember.

Oliver loved Quidditch so much that he would wake up at the crack of dawn just to walk on the field he had been on millions of times before. He almost always had a warm smile on his face. And Oliver was one the few people that treated Harry like a person, not some untouchable celebrity that everyone wants to make friends with so they can write home to their family saying how they and Harry Potter were best friends. He never sought fame from knowing Harry, and Harry in turn never sought fame from knowing Wood (whom, unbeknownst to Oliver, was very popular with the Gryffindor ladies).

Now, the boy Harry knew better then his own parents, was dead.

He hated that word. Dead. It was so final. So…dead.

He had been watching Harry the whole week, and Harry was looking like hell. But what could you expect? His friend just died. _But then again_, Ron thought to himself, _I bet I look like hell too._ Oliver had been nice to the jokingly dubbed 'Potter Trio' ever since they had arrived. Ron knew that getting over his passing was going to be hard and take time. A lot of time.

* * *

The only way she had found that she could forget about the whole thing was too burry her head in a mountain of books and try not to think. Just keep your mind on one track and you should be fine. 'Should' being the operative word. Hermione sighed, she couldn't deal with this. She didn't know how. She felt like she was locked in a room with no windows or doors and the only way out was to react the right way. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to deal with this amount of loss, and pain. Just float, she supposed. Just float along like nothing happened. She was sure her pile of books wouldn't notice.

* * *

He had walked out to the field where it had happened. He sat down mere feet away from…from the spot. The grass was a green as it had ever been, thanks to a nifty spell from Professor Sprout. The memory of the gruesome scene it had been before then still haunted Harry's every thought. Every time he closed his eyes that night replayed over and over again. If only he had done something, if only he had seen them sooner he would have been able to have gotten there in time.

He sat, staring at the grass that had sealed his good friend's untimely fate. For hours his eyes never left that spot. He had lost track of time. And slowly the days worries and fears caught up to him, as his eyes drifted closed and he fell into a fitful slumber. Harry hoped that tonight would be different and he wouldn't have the same nightmare. The nightmare that plagued him everywhere he went in his waking hours. He could only pray that it was exhausted as he, and would sleep the whole night through.

Only hours later, in the absolute dead of night, Harry's horrid dreams found him. He awoke with a start and sat up, panting and sweating. He glanced around not recognizing where he was, but then it all came back to him. He flopped back down onto the ground, wishing that he could go back to sleep but knowing that particular option was not open to him at the moment. Not unless he wanted to relive the scene he wished he would never have too.

He brought his hand up to his face and sighed. It was not like he was in need of more nightmares. First his parents, then Voldemort, and now Wood.

Harry lied there for who knows how long. After awhile he started to feel a cool spray of water against his hand, the one covering his face. He moved it and stared directly upwards, not having enough energy to turn away from the unwanted assault of the late night shower. He barely blinked as the tiny drop of rain slowly fell into his eyes, momentarily blurring his vision.

He was so sick of this. Sick of feeling so depressed. He almost smiled, it was one unfortunate thing after another it seemed. Placing his hand back on his face, he sighed once more. Maybe it was his fault. All of it, everything terrible that's happened was his fault. Maybe he was just bad luck. That thought made him pause for a moment. He was bad luck? It made sense…in a twisted sort of way. Almost everything terrible that's happened at Hogwarts has happened when he was there. Hell, every year there's a new Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher because something Harry was involved in the previous year always managed to scare them off.

Harry rolled over onto his stomach. He glanced up when he heard the sound of a faint laugh. He scanned the Quidditch field, to see if anyone had the same bright idea as him – to sleep on it. No one else was there. He shook his head, he was just hearing things.

He sighed once more and continued his thoughts where he had left off.

As it seemed, Harry Potter was bad luck.

There it was again! That laughter! Harry sat up this time, and looked around the field once more. And once again, he was still the only one present. He heard the laughter again, this time coming from a little ways in front of him. Harry dared not walk over there for fear of going to close to…to…to the no longer blood stained grass.

_"You're out of you're bloody mind, you know that?"_ Harry heard a fainted voice whisper to him.

He stood up now. Panic flooded him…maybe he really was going insane…

_"You're not insane and you're not bad luck, Potter."_

Yepp. He was loosing it. He had finally gone insane. He was sure of it now. Voices were the first sign, he guessed.

The sun was starting to rise, blanketing the Quidditch field in a soft orange glow. The light rain that had begun only moments ago was already dieing down. Harry glanced around himself once more, wary of what he might see. But at the same time, worried he wouldn't see anything – thus proving that we was indeed hearing voices.

Alas, for the third time there was no one else out there.

Harry decided that it was time to go in. He really did not want to deal with hearing more voices. He quickly walked to the door that led back into Hogwarts, he needed to get ready for class anyway. He reached the large door and walked through it without a second thought.

Had he only stayed for just a few more seconds he would have seen a shadowy mist of a silhouette smiling at him as the sun rose on the Quidditch field.

* * *

"Harry…You look terrible…"

Harry vaguely smiled at Ron, knowing full well what a night of sleeping on the Quidditch field had done to him.

Ron wasn't sure what else to say, really. He never knew what to say these days. He felt like he should be handling Harry as if he was made of glass…glass surrounded by egg shells…porcelain egg shells…in a minefield. But at the same time Ron felt guilty for not being able to act like he used to around his best friend. Before Oliver…

Ron shook his head. What else could he do? He really had nothing to go on here. He'd never had to comfort a friend whom had lost someone. Ron sighed, he had lost someone too. Even though he and Oliver hadn't been as close as he and Harry had been, Ron still knew him. They were in the same house after all. And somehow, Oliver always managed to sit somewhere near them in the Great Hall. Ron had grown accustomed to everyone sitting in the same spots in the Hall. But now…now there was an empty seat…and that hurt Ron a lot more then he cared to admit.

What else could he do? Even with his forever faulty wand and his somewhat limited (well, limited compared to Hermione's) knowledge of proper spells, Ron felt helpless.

He realized with a defeated sigh, that there was nothing he could do for Harry, besides be there for him.

What was that saying? Time heals all wounds? He gathered his books for class and followed Harry out the door of the Gryffindor Common Room. Well, time wasn't working fast enough in Ronald Wesley's opinion.

* * *

"Harry…You look terrible…"

She immediately regretted the words when she saw Ron shake his head from behind Harry. But Harry only sighed and nodded.

She had caught up with them on their way to class and couldn't stop herself from speaking. He did look terrible after all. He had large dark circles under his half lidded eyes, and his hair was a bit worse for wear. Hermione's shoulders slumped when she realized that the pathetic little nod she got from Harry was all she was going to get from Harry.

She missed him too. Oliver had always been kind to her, even if they had only spoken a few times. She always saw him in the library – reading about Quidditch no doubt. One time, during her first year at Hogwarts, she was in the library trying to look up Mystical Men Of Magic for some light reading. But when she finally found the book she had sadly discovered that it resided on the top shelf. Where she couldn't reach. After only a few minutes of attempting to jump and grab it, a gentle hand reached up and easily lifted the book off the high shelf. She had turned around to find Oliver Wood, whom was a good head taller, standing behind her. Book in hand. He had smiled at her and offered the now in reach book to her.

That had been the first time Hermione had talked to him. He was always courteous and gentlemanly the few times they spoke. She would never admit it, but she had just begun to develop a small schoolgirl crush on the handsome Keeper. But then again, what Gryffindor_ didn't_ have even the slightest crush on him?

But he was gone now. All thanks to the one thing he loved to do most in the world. Quidditch.

She didn't know if she, Ron, Harry or…anyone else who knew Oliver would ever be able to get over his untimely death. Especially Harry. Hermione could still remember the look in his eyes when he had come off the Quidditch field that night. The night he had failed to saving Oliver. No. No, it wasn't Harry's fault. He had at least tried.

_I could have cast a spell…_She thought. A simple levitation spell could've possible saved his life. But she had been frozen to the ground in horror. The thought of doing a spell had crossed her mind a million and a half times that night, but she didn't move. She couldn't. She had failed Wood, and Harry, and Ron…and…every other Gryffindor. Every student at Hogwarts. She could've saved him. But she froze. And now he was dead.

There was nothing she could do but try and make up for what she thought was a horrendous mistake she had made by not acting quick enough. All she could do was be there for Harry. That is…if he even wanted her around after what she did. Or rather, what she didn't do.

* * *

He could barely pay attention in class anymore. Everything just seemed to blur together after awhile. He rested his elbows on his desk and stared at the empty sheet he was supposed to be taking notes on. He needed a break. A vacation. Some time to collect his thoughts.

He picked up his pencil and began absent mindedly drawing on the paper before him. Suddenly a sad thought crossed him mind as he was contemplating how turning a hat into a feather would hardly help him later in life, no matter how much McGonagall thought so. Everything Oliver had learned was a waste. He'd never be able to do anything with that useless knowledge now that he was…

Harry straightened up in his seat, trying not to think about it.

And just as he was getting comfortable in the very uncomfortable chair, he felt something lightly hit him on the side of the head. He looked over, and seeing nothing he looked down next to his chair to see what had apparently been thrown at him. A small neatly folded piece of parchment paper greeted his eyes. He cautiously picked it up and glanced around to see if anyone was watching him do it. That being a tell tale sign that they were the ones that had thrown it in the first place.

As he looked around he noticed someone out of the corner of his eye staring at him. Draco. As if Harry didn't have enough going on, now Draco felt like he needed to add to the fun?

But curiosity got the better of Harry and he opened the small note Malfoy had thrown at him.

Harry's heart almost stopped right then and there.

It was a picture. A moving drawing Draco had apparently created for Harry's 'enjoyment'. His eyes glazed over with blind fury and guilt. He crumpled the paper up in his hand and tears began to form behind his eyes. He dropped the paper on his desk and jump out of his seat. Harry was out of that classroom before anyone could say otherwise.

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall yelled after him. "Mr. Potter!" But it was no use. He was long gone by now, judging from how fast he had left the classroom.

* * *

She had noticed Harry leaning down to pick something up off the floor. A piece of paper. She saw him glace around. And she saw him make eye contact for the briefest moment was Draco Malfoy. Hermione had a bad feeling about this. She saw him open the paper. She watched as his face paled considerably, before turning faintly red with anger.

And finally she saw him with lightning speed, jump out of his seat and the classroom in a matter of seconds. And just as he walked out the door she saw a single tear fall off his face and onto the floor.

"Mr. Potter!" She heard McGonagall called "Mr. Potter!" She glanced around the classroom, not sure what to do. But her face set quickly as she decided how to handle this. "All of you stay in here, and do not move. I will be back shortly." And with that, she left to find Harry.

Quite giggling suddenly assaulted Hermione's ears. She spun around and found Draco Malfoy, and his two pets, Crabb and Goyle laughing. Her eyes widened with anger and she too jumped out of her seat but instead of Harry, she walked over to his abandoned desk and picked up the paper that was now in the shape of a ball.

And slowly he unfolded it. And was sorry the minute she did. Her hands tightened into fists as pure hatred pour into her very being.

It was a cartoon. A cartoon of that night Oliver…fell. The horrid picture portrayed Oliver's hand slipping out of Harry's frantic grasp. And as the cartoon Wood hit the ground and the cartoon blood splattered around him, words showed up at the bottom of the paper. "It's about time Potter." It read, "If you hadn't of killed the ponce then, I would have." And after that all Hermione saw was red.

And the next thing she knew, she was being pulled off a very bleeding and very bruised Malfoy. She fought back of course, trying to get another hit in but the hands holding her back were too strong.

"YOU ANIMAL! YOU FUCKING ANIMAL!" She screamed as she tried to kick him in the teeth. Again.

And suddenly everything she had been hiding from behind her books had found it's was around them. All the anger, and the sadness. All the loss and confusion. But mostly the rage she felt at Oliver's death. And right now all that was aimed at Draco. Who was on the floor crying like a baby as he tried to make his nose and mouth (where Hermione had knocked a few teeth loose) stop bleeding.

She could already see a black eye forming and it made her smile. He deserved everything he got. Everything.

* * *

Ron didn't know what to do when Harry had suddenly left, so how was he supposed to stop Hermione from beating the living hell out of Draco? He joined one other boy in attempting to hold her back from causing Malfoy more damage then she already had. He and the other boy held her by the arms as she kicked and screamed at the crying boy on the floor otherwise known as Draco.

"IS THIS FUNNY!" She shrieked at him, "IS IT!" She struggled more trying to free herself from Ron's grasp.

"Hermione!" He yelled trying to get her attention so he could calm her down. "Hermione STOP!"

Her almost seizure like movements for freedom began to die down as tears streamed down her cheeks. "Is this funny?" She asked him again, sorrow finding its way into her voice. "Is it funny?" She barely whispered as she stopped fighting all together.

And suddenly she sagged in their arms as her feet gave out from underneath her. Ron and the other boy helped her slowly slide to the floor so she could sit down. Ron stayed with her as the other boy stood up and announced that he was going to go and try to find McGonagall so she could straighten this whole thing out.

Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder before Ron encompassed her in large hug as she sobbed into his robes.

A slightly higher pitched cry caught his attention and he glances over to find Draco still bleeding on the floor where Hermione had left him.

"Someone take him to the nurse or something." Ron sighed.

Crabb and Goyle immediately went into action, helping Draco stand and escorting him out of the room and down to the infirmary. All the while very obviously shying away from Hermione for fear of what she might do to them.

Ron rocked back and forth with Hermione in his arms as the rest of the class stared on from the circle they had formed around the short lived fight. And just then something caught Ron's eye. An open piece of paper on the floor next to Harry's empty desk. Ron peered over at it, remembering that it was what had sent Hermione over the edge.

And as Ron watched the horrendous cartoon play out before his eyes, he was filled with regret.

Regret for stopping Hermione from beating Draco to death.

* * *

He had found his way into the Gryffindor Common Room and had sprinted up the stairs to the room he shared with Ron. He stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do, or if he should do anything at all.

The tears started falling again at he suddenly felt completely and utterly alone. He walked over to the window in their room that overlooked the Quidditch field. And Harry almost threw up at he was overwhelmed with grief.

He stared at that field. The field he vowed to himself, he would never again play Quidditch on again. No matter how much Oliver would've "wanted it" or so he was told. That was another thing he was sick of. People telling him was Oliver would've wanted from him. "Oliver wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life grieving" "Oliver would want you to continue to play Quidditch in his honor" Oliver wanted this, Oliver wanted that.

Oliver doesn't want anything, Harry thought to himself. You know why? Because Oliver is dead. That's why.

Harry stopped. "Oliver's dead." He stated out loud, as if he was just realizing it. But in a way – he was. "He's dead…oh my god…he's dead."

Fresh new tears found their way down Harry already soaked cheeks as he repeated the same phrase to himself over and over again. "He's dead…he's really dead…" Harry covered his mouth with his hand, "He's gone." He whispered.

And just as he was about to turn away from the window and sit down something…or rather, someone caught his eye. Someone standing on the Quidditch field. Looking at him. But Harry was so far up, he couldn't make out the person's face. But one thing he could see was their robes. Their Gryffindor Quidditch robes. All practices had been canceled until further notice…so…who…why would they…

They waved at Harry. Harry, confused, slowly waved back before wiping his teary wet eyes. And then the mysterious person on the field gestured for Harry to come down and join him.

Harry was perplexed to say the least. But for the second time today, curiosity got the best of him and he nodded to the robed figure on the ground. Harry stood up and straightened his own robes before leaving his room and the Common Room and making his way down the ever changing steps to the field. He kept a look out for any teachers, for he was supposed to be in class now.

Well, he mused, I was there for most of the class…just not the last…hour…or so…

He peered around the door in search of the student he had seen from his window. And just as he saw part of their robe someone grabbed him by the back of the neck.

"Mr. Potter!" Harry's eyes widened. It was McGonagall. Oh, he was in for it now. "Mr. Potter, what on earth do you think you're doing?"

Harry gulped, "I…I…"

"Save it Potter. I'm sure Dumbledore would be much more interested in hear what you have to say. Come with me." She then grabbed a fistful of Harry's and began to escort him to the Headmasters office. And just as Harry turned around to go, he got a full look at the reason he had been down there in the first place.

The person that had waved at him and asked him to come down. The one that had been dressed in Quidditch robes.

If McGonagall hadn't have been holding him up, Harry's legs would have given out from underneath him. There was no way…Harry's worries of going crazy from the previous night came back to him with full force.

They were standing in the middle of the field, broom in hand. Gazing at him, with a questioning look in their eyes as they watched Harry being taken away by McGonagall.

"Wood…" Harry whispered in disbelief. He was right there. Watching him. It was Oliver.

"What?" McGonagall asked him sharply.

Harry tore his eyes away from what seemed to him like a hallucination to stare at McGonagall for only a few seconds before whipping his head back around to look at Oliver again.

But this time…he was no where to be seem.

Harry's eyes widen further, something he thought they would not be able to do. "But he was…he…"

"What are you going on about Potter?" McGonagall impatiently asked.

His eyes were glued to the spot he had seen Oliver only seconds before, and he paused for a long time. "Nothing…" He finally answered quietly. "I-I thought I saw someone I knew." He mentally slapped himself. First he started hear voices…and now he was seeing things...more tears formed in his eyes, but this time he would not allow them to fall.

McGonagall wasted no time in dragging him the opposite way down the hall.

And Harry never said a word.

To Be Continued…

* * *

A/N: Whew! That was a big chapter…ahaha, and it took me long enough too. But I'm gonna have to say…I think it's my favorite so far! And I hoped you guys liked it too! …. Please be a nice reader and review! It makes me happy! And a happy Irish is a updating Irish! … hehe. Thanks for much for reading! See ya next chapter! 


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